


Play with Fire

by Scoundrel (Drel)



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Multi, One Shot Collection, Surgery, Terminal Illnesses, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hints of julian/apprentice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2019-10-28 11:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drel/pseuds/Scoundrel
Summary: A collection of oneshots revolving around my apprentice, Magdalene, and her relationships. It'll mostly be Courtier centric lmao





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valdemar/Magdalene w hinted Magdalene/Julian (but theyre a mess) angsty w some suggested feelings?? theyre all messy tbh. also warning theres a vivisection scene but it isnt graphically gorey.

“Quaestor Valdemar”

“Nurse 078.” Valdemar didn’t bother looking up from the reports they were reading. “What ails you. Besides the obvious.”

“Wh-” Magdalene’s face scrunched up as she instinctively pulled the brim of her hat lower, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I thought you were bright enough to have noticed.” Valdemar’s gaze flickered to her. “Your thoughts and emotions have a tendency of racing across your face, like a fleeing rabbit. It’s quite annoying.”

“Those sad, wistful gazes towards Doctor 069 are simply the worst. Oh, and I’ve seen how your face scrunches up near a body- one would think you would have gotten used to the scent by now.” They said, both of them knowing it wasn’t the scent that disgusted her. It was the body, or rather the lack of moral concern surrounding the handling of the body. “Although… your eyes fill with this… palpable indignant rage, when you argue. It suits you much more than pity does.”

“In my professional opinion.” They added after a moment.

Magdalene scowled, before huffing and shifting her expression a few times. She was now acutely aware of every muscle movement in her face. “Been spending a lot of time looking at me, have you?”

Valdemar continued, seemingly unphased by the jab- but she saw their jaw clench as their smile tightened, “No, as a surgeon you simply notice details quicker than others. And it isn’t hard at all to read you like a book.”

“Yeah, well, congrats- because this book is at it’s last chapter.” She said, not with her usual venom but rather an exhausted weariness. She pulled her witches hat off her face, and looked the intrigued doctor dead in the eyes- something she only did when they were ‘debating’ something, usually the ethics of what went on in the dungeons.

Valdemar froze at her stare, and the silence grew as awkward tension filled the empty air. Magdalene would have sweat more than she was already, if a fever hadn’t been wracking her body. Valdemar finally placed their papers on their desk and approached her, “I see.”

“That’s it? 'I see’?” Magdalene said, her voice cracking as her eyebrows furrowed, tears clouding her violently red eyes. “I’m dying! And all you can say is 'I see’!?”

“If you wanted to be coddled you should have ran to Devorak!” Valdemar’s voice raised as they were broken out of their trance. They grimaced, disappointed in themself for losing their cool like that, swiftly returning to a neutral pose.

“Julian can’t help me!” Magdalene cried out, tugging on her hair in frustration, “Julian… can’t help me, okay?”

Valdemar remained emotionless, though their eyes slightly widened at this admission, “From my observations it seems he would gladly kill himself over you if given the chance. I don’t see-”  
Magdalene slipped closer to the Quaestor, glowering up at them, “Julian doesn’t know. And he isn’t gonna know.”  
Valdemar’s face slowly creeped into a dangerous, shark teeth smile, a slight airy chuckle escaping them, “I may not be as frivolous as the Praetor, or the Count’s Bedfellow, but that… is quite the drama. How exciting.”

Magdalene shook her head, “Look, okay, I don’t want to stop helping with the plague research. Might as well make my life mean something.”  
“And how do you propose you do that?” Valdemar said, their smile stretching unnaturally tight. Her determination was foolish, for there was no cure. No cure except the swift death of Lucio. And Valdemar was enjoying the plague far too much to tell her such prime information.

“I give myself.” She said, before pausing, a light blush covering her sickly gaunt face. “Like, for science. I was thinking before I’m sent to the Lazaret, I could help you record my experience with the plague, since I’m still alive.”

Valdemar’s eyes widened. Their gorey perversion flared at the chance to vivisect her, consuming them in a dark desire they had been trying to subdue. “Oh?”

“Like, since most of the doctors who have succumbed to the plague went home before hand, or were sent to the Lazaret. I’m not as experienced as a doctor, but I kind of know what I’m talking about.” Magdalene replied nervously, tugging on one of her hair strands.

“I’m sure you’ll… suffice.” Valdemar said, their head racing with their twisted plans. 

The next few days Magdalene spent in the Quaestor’s office, withering away. It started out simply, with basic examinations and small tests. Formalities in the grand scheme of things. But the light touches of the doctor, their cool gloves dancing across her feverish skin, it made her squirm. She didn’t like the fluttering feeling it awoke in her, trying to ignore her yearning for them despite all of her instincts telling her to run, run far away. But the intimacy of the private examinations and questions preyed on the delirious state of her aching heart. 

Unrequited… something. It wasn’t love, it couldn’t be. The Quaestor seemed like they considered love a filthy, wrong word. It was more like a deep, dark, primal desire. A violent urge that consumed her and made those last few moments all the more excruciating. And as she lay on the surgery table, she wanted nothing more than to have the clarity to tell the Quaestor. But she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. It was wrong, for a multitude of reasons. And even if by some miracle, or curse, they returned her feelings in any capacity, she was dying. She was a lost cause.

So as the Quaestor trailed their hand up her body, she bit her lip, sweat running down her- whether it was from tension or her sickness was lost to her. They delicately handled one of their tools, turning to her with a wicked, twisted smile that made her chest swell. The evening was a blur of pain and a revolting desire fueling her sick veins to push her through the surgery without succumbing to the death that called to her so sweetly.

The doctor sewed her up, reluctantly stitching her closed. Magdalene groaned, barely conscious as she placed her hands over her chest, her eyes flickering with light as she tried to heal herself. Valdemar watched her with heavy intrigue as her incisions magically started repairing themself at an astonishing speed. But halfway through the show was interrupted when Magdalene passed out, her hands sliding to her sides as her eyes fluttered shut with a sigh, exhausted beyond magic use. 

Valdemar paused for a moment, she was hauntingly beautiful, captivating even as she lay deathly still. A foreign feeling of melancholy washed over them as they gazed at her. She’d be leaving for the lazaret tomorrow, their little experiment concluded. They almost wished they could toy with her longer, she was formidable in a way that they hadn’t seen in other humans. Something strong and ancient slept inside her, and Valdemar wasn’t sure what would happen if it were awakened. It terrified them. 

When Magdalene woke up, she was being jostled in a carriage beside the now somewhat familiar form of Quaestor Valdemar. She looked around the inside of the carriage awed at the beautiful interior. She turned with a weak smile to the doctor, her words slurring, “Y’didn’t have’ta rent out a carriage for me.”

Valdemar failed to stifle a smirk, “While you may enjoy trudging through the rain, I’d like to wait until it’s absolutely necessary to get wet.”

“What’cha scarred o’ the rain for? You’ll melt?” Magdalene teased, to which the Quaestor quirked a brow, “Never mind, issa story thing.”

She turned to look out of the carriage, as the buildings she had known her whole life flashed by. She hadn’t spoken to her family in years, and she didn’t want to, but her thoughts turned to her aunt, and Asra, and Julian. What would they say when they found out? What would they do? The horrifying thought of nothing filled her paranoid mind, but she was too tired to cry about it. She wearily accepted her fate of being forgotten, a side note in everyone’s lives. She supposed her teachers were right when they had told her she was a shadow, something that followed and was to be ignored. If only she had told the fierce, bitter little girl version of herself that- would have saved her a lot of punishment. 

The carriage came to a stop, and for a moment Magdalene was confused, she couldn’t see the ferries. Valdemar exited the carriage, and she followed. They turned to her, gesturing for her to follow them down a side street. “I’d prefer to avoid the large crowd, I’ve been informed of a less crowded route to the pick up point.”

They made their way to the docks, shielded from the light drizzle by the buildings flanking their sides. And then she saw it, through the space between the buildings, she saw it. The boat that would bring her to the last moments of her life. Both packed in with the rest of the dead and utterly alone. What a pitiful end. Magdalene was too tired to protest though, to fight. She had done enough fighting in her short lifetime, and it had never helped. Just made things worse.

She stepped past the doctor before turning and looking up at them with those violently red eyes, “I guess this is where we part ways, huh?”

“I’d say so, puppet, I’d rather not be seen amongst the masses.” Valdemar said calmly, looking down at the petite blonde witch. “They might blame me for their affliction and riot, who knows what might happen.”

Magdalene gave a small chuckle, despite everything, and Valdemar smiled, genuinely. 

What happened next Valdemar would never admit to. She muttered under her breath, “What have I got to lose?” and leaned up, placing a soft kiss upon their chin. As she turned, Valdemar desperately grabbed her shoulder with their glove, pulling her into an all consuming kiss. She sobbed and leaned into it, wrapping her arms around their shoulders, pressing into the kiss that was over far to soon.

“You shouldn’t do things like that, Magdalene, you could get me sick.” Valdemar said, breathless and completely out of their comfort zone, staring at her with panic and excitement.

“Sick with what, Valdemar?” Came her coy reply, her chest heaving with her rapid breaths. A call came from the boats, as they began counting and recording the passengers. A heavy, tense moment passed between them until Magdalene tore her gaze from them, racing out into the rain and towards the boats- fleeing from the Quaestor. Valdemar looked on for a moment before they regained their composure, falling back into their natural stiff position, and returned to their carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that a lil' ooc? maybe but uhhh I'm a pisces and I live for this Angst


	2. Chapter 2

“That wouldn’t work- they’d be able to flank around here.” Magdalene said, pointing to the side of the map. The decommission of Vesuvia’s army had done little to stop the Pontifex from continuing to plot how they were going to conquer the world. Or rather, the nearby countries. But the jump from conquering a few countries and the whole world was a small one for someone as ambitious as Pontifex Vulgora.

Magdalene didn’t have any combat experience herself, but she found analyzing their battle plans and all the possibilities of a fake war a fun mental exercise. She had accompanied them to their war room initially merely to humor them, hoping to uncover some unbeknownst clue about the Counts murder that they had ‘forgotten’ to divulge. Over time however, she found herself becoming more and more invested into their battle plans- their conversation became less one sided as she switched the topic from Lucio to their passion- the art of war.

“Hm… you should divert some of your troops back here to go through this path- then they go through the mountain pass and cut off a flank with an ambush. And if there isn’t a flanking force they can become one.” She leaned back, crossing her arms as she sent a smug smirk over in Vulgora’s direction.

Vulgora scoffed, rolling their eyes as they stared down at the map with an intense look of contemplation. Their scowl twisted into a wicked smile as they smacked the table, “AH! But if you do that, there’s a vulnerability from the left side later once they divert, which becomes a problem until they reach Nevivon. I think they should stay as one, it’s more fortified.”

“Okay… but that doesn’t solve the problem of a flank,” Magdalene said, furrowing her brow as she mirrored their previous intense look at the board. “Okayokayokay- how 'bout this- order scouts to monitor the perimeter. If they spot anything, they can warn the main force before a formidable flank would reach them, giving them enough time to prepare.”

“Hm…” Vulgora looked down at the map, “But that just adds a whole new bunch of problems! How many scouts, and their training, and how they would report back- UGH!”

They growled as they leaned back, rubbing at their eyes, “Why’d you have to go make everything all complicated? Flanking this, underhand that- combat used to be simple! Sword here, bullet there- guys dead everywhere! Just pure, violent force!”

“And yet you still let me in here- still let me complicate things,” Magdalene said, her airy voice slighty sing-songy as she teased them. Her lips turned into a coy smile as she placed a hand on her hip, “Me thinks you like having me around. At least a lil bit.”

Vulgora squinted at her, their lips pursing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” They hissed, their face getting more red by the second.

“Oh, c'mon- you were toying with the same boneheaded schemes for who knows how long until I came along,” She stated, as if it were the obvious, flicking a strand of hair behind her dismissively. Vulgora’s eyes widened like a taunted bull.

“HAH! As if! All you do is point out cowardly tactics that I don’t need to worry about! Me thinks it takes a coward to recognize a cowards plan, hm?!” Vulgora said, their voice rising with every word. It was Magdalene’s turn to glare as she frowned. “My battle plans are too solid to worry about some rats that might come around. They’d get slaughtered like everyone else.”

“At the cost of more lives though!” Magdalene shouted across the table, “While you’re up here rearranging pawns on a map, real people are down there getting killed!”

“THE MORE BLOODSHED THE BETTER!” Vulgora screeched, clenching their clawed gauntlet into a tight fist. “AND AS IF I WOULDN’T BE RIGHT DOWN THERE WITH THEM, LEADING OUR GLORIOUS CHARGE!”

Magdalene screamed, slamming her fist on the table, “Shut UP! By the STARS, you… THICK HEADED, BRUTISH THUG- YOU- YOU- UGH!”

Magdalene yanked on her hair, her face violently red as she grit her teeth, “Are you… really… that blind- A FLANK OR AN AMBUSH COULD COMPLETELY CONFUSE AND DIVIDE YOUR ARMY, SOMETHING YOU DIDN’T WANT!!”

Vulgora nearly lunged over the table, “DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT, WITCH! I’VE TORN APART FOES TWICE YOUR SIZE! WATCH YOUR TONGUE BEFORE I CUT IT OUT!”

Magdalene's breath hitched, a beat of silence as she scowled at the pontifex, before she began stomping over to the door. Glowering at the floor her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her face burning. Inches from the door, cold metal snatched her wrist tightly- but not carelessly. She was spun around, slammed on the door, Vulgora’s face dangerously close to hers. She huffed, twisting her arm as she tried to squirm away, unable to look them in the eyes.

“I didn’t dismiss you yet.” They whispered, a husky rasp from their earlier yelling. Their chest heaving with every heavy, shaky breath they took.

“I don’t care. I… I can do much more than just cut your tongue out.” Magdalene threatened, her warm breath filling the small space between them. The Pontifex’s grip on her wrist tightened. She looked up at them, a deep, dark look in her eyes, “You can’t tell me what to do. No one can.”

Magdalene placed her free hand on Vulgora’s shoulder, and they tensed under her light touch. She leaned forward; so close to touching- but unbearably not there. Vulgora growled in frustration, unsure whether they wanted her to never touch them again or to never take her hands off them.

Suddenly, she pushed them, magic flowing through her as her eyes lit up with a vibrant glow. Flipping their position with unnatural strength, she bent them backwards on to the war table. She leaned into them, steadying their heaving chests against one another. She slid a hand up their body, her finger raking across their cheek as her eyes fluttered into a sultry gaze and whispered, “Not even you.”

Vulgora’s eyes widened, a terrifying second of silence between the two of them before the space between them was erased, Vulgora’s lips connecting with Magdalene’s in a rough clash. Messy as the two of them were, they still managed to devoured each other, frantically grabbing at each other as they kissed.

Their heated back and forth continued as Vulgora flipped their positions, seeming to tower over and consume her. They trapped both of Magdalene’s wrists above her head, snarling as they fought to regain dominance. One of their legs pushed her’s open, their thigh pressing up and coaxing a deep moan from her. Magdalene squirmed against their grip but her hips ground down on their invading thigh.

Both of them froze at a soft knocking, a timid voice just barely being heard through the door. “Vulgora, are you in there? Can I come in?”

Vulgora snarled, turning their head in the direction of the door, “GO AWAY!”

Magdalene thought the red blush consuming their face was charming, now that she had a moment to look at them. Some sort of primal urge took over her as she leaned up, kissing the side of their face delicately. Vulgora tensed, their breath hitching. They gave her a sideways glare with a pout that made Magdalene laugh softly. She couldn’t remember if she had ever felt this giddy sort of mischievous feeling before, but she didn’t dislike it. It was just sort of scary how much fun it was to tease Vulgora, how they pushed her past her comfort zone. She didn’t know what other kinds of mischief they could coax out of her.

“Uh, well, it’s kind of urgent business, y'know? Like. Really urgent?” Volta sounded more worried than she usually did, and for a moment it made Magdalene pause.

“You- you should go see whats wrong.” She whispered, despite the undeniable warmth spreading through her body. Vulgora growled turning back to her, resting their forehead against hers.

“I know what business she’s talking about- it’s not as urgent as she’s making it seem. Probably just Vlastomil using his twisted words to scare her into working harder. To feed his power complex.” Vulgora whispered back as they rolled their hips, nearly spitting out the Praetors name. Magdalene swore under her breath at their movement, biting her lip to stop a deep, guttural moan from escaping her. That’s the last thing she needed Volta to hear.

Vulgora chuckled, a sound that made butterflies flutter deep inside Magdalene, “Scared she’s gonna hear us? When I’m done with you the whole palace would'a heard us, doll.”  
“Vulgora! Really, really, really need you right now!” Volta pleaded through the door, and Magdalene was just grateful she didn’t have the gall to open the door.

Vulgora was obviously frustrated as they screeched, “NO! I’M- UGH! BUSY FUCKING!”

“Urk- the fuck’s wrong with you?!” Magdalene hissed, as the color drained from Vulgora’s shocked face. The Pontifex glared down at her, obviously taken aback by what they had said just as much as she was.

“W- what?!” Volta exclaimed, her voice so high pitched it was a barely audible squeak.

“I MEANT IM. IM FUCKING BUSY.” Vulgora desperately tried correcting their slip up, raking a claw down their face in exasperation. They groaned in frustration before sighing and clamoring off of Magdalene. They looked as if they were silently screaming, a whole new type of screaming for them. It would have almost been comical if Magdalene wasn’t also getting blue balled.

Vulgora frantically gestured for her to move out of the doorways view, to which she gladly scrambled away- fueled by the mortifying idea of Volta catching them. Although… deep down there was this awful part of her that was sort of, maybe, perhaps, a tiny bit… excited at the idea of being caught- just if it weren’t Volta. Magdalene grimaced at this thought, putting the urge to the side to deal with later.

Vulgora didn’t bother straightening out their attire before stomping over to the door, creaking it open and jutting their head out. They hissed, “What. Is. It.”

“Um- Vlastomil said that we should go to the forbidden wing. To check something out. About stuff.” Volta murmured.

“Those his words?” Vulgora spat sourly, “Hmph- not nearly pathetic enough. Or enough worms.”

“Well, you know, he was quite dramatic about the whole thing! He made it sound like the whole world was gonna end if I didn’t get you right away- I almost believed him, he was getting so riled up!” Volta said, her voice quivering. Magdalene’s heart ached; she wanted nothing more than to run out there and reassure Volta she would beat Vlastomil’s bony ass if he ever worried her like that again

“Oh, c'mon, don’t start crying- its fine, you big baby! Look, it’s fine! Jeez, okay, okay, I’m coming, just stop crying, I can’t stand that sound.” Vulgora muttered, slipping out of the room to follow Volta.

After a moment passed, Magdalene slid out from her hiding place, desperately trying to calm her breathing. She wandered over to the window, staring at her disheveled reflection. Fixing herself up as best she could, she slipped away from the abandoned war room, making a mental note to return to the Forbidden Wing to do some more investigating.


	3. Vlastomil Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> split into two parts bcus i just keep adding onto this stupid thing sksksksksk

A heavy blanket of fog clouded the deep forest, hypnotizing the blonde mage as the royal carriage carried her further and further away from the city. Perhaps it was foolish to come out here alone, but how else were she to spend her days ‘investigating’ the Count’s murder if not verifying the eyewitness stories? The fateful encounters she had had with one Julian Devorak came to mind, and she shook her head to herself. No, she would rather bide their time by ‘clarifying’ the eyewitness accounts, than to suffocate on her lies to Nadia about the doctor in the palace. 

A dense thump against the carriage rocked her out of her agitated thinking, her eyebrows shooting up as the carriage slid to a stop. She kicked the door to the carriage open, stepping out into the grey mist with a frown as her head whipped to the side to survey the damage. The coachman was already standing beside said damage, looking at one of the wheels with a downcast expression. It had been utterly shattered, wood splintering the glittery golden paint. 

“What the hell happened?” Her voice pierced through the air, shaking the coachman from his mourning. 

“I haven’t the faintest clue miss, it seems we hit something-” The man scratched his head, slightly moving his hat, “Or we was hit by somethin’. But I haven’t an idea what of!”

The magician huffed, swinging back around to take in their surroundings, eyes squinting in a desperate bid to make sense of the hazy air. She could just barely make out the foreboding silhouette of what she could only imagine was the Praetor’s mansion. Well... at least they had managed to make their destination. The more she gazed up at the winding spires however, the more she could feel the magic in her twist in odd ways. There was something off about this place, and not knowing what it was made her itch.

Just as she was gonna take a step forward, a shrill voice echoed through the fog. “Please- you must stop her!”

“What-?” The question of who this ‘she’ was, was immediately answered as the ground shook violently, nearly knocking the magician off her feet. A large grey worm erupted from the ground, spewing dirt in it’s rampage, attacking the carriage with one hefty smack before tunneling back underneath the ground. Just as soon as the beast had appeared did it disappear, leaving her to only wonder in confusion if she had really just seen that. As the shock wore off, she focused on the man approaching them- a sickly grey man that seemed to nearly blend into the fog- And had it not been for his dark judge robes, he would have. 

“Praetor!” She rushed forward, the frown on her face twisting into a look of panic, “What was that?”

“Silence!” His voice was curt and harsh, and commanded something deep inside her- something she had forgotten. “You have two able hands, they look perfect for catching my beautiful Wiggler in the Garden! You must get her!”

“Y-yes sir!” The words had left her mouth before she had even thought of them, and instinctively she began to turn around as if to dive into the hole and chase the monstrous sized worm with nothing but her bare hands. But just as soon as she jumped into action she stopped herself, shaking her head and dispelling the ache there. 

“Wait- No!” She spun around, her blonde hair bouncing with the movement. She stuck an accusing finger in the Praetor’s face, her lips pursing in anger, “That thing broke the Countess’ carriage!”

“Thing?!” The Praetor’s face twisted into an enraged sneer. His bony claw snatched her hand away from his face, and she winced as she failed to wretch herself free of his unnaturally strong grasp. She squirmed as he jutted forward, “That is my darling Wiggler- and I will have no slander of her! Especially not from the likes of you.”

“Hrk-” The woman yanked her hand away, subconsciously rubbing her bruised wrist as she curled inward, glaring up at the man with piercing eyes. “I don’t know how poor your vision is, but I’m Magdalene- the magician that Nadia hired to investigate the count’s untimely demise.”

“I’m just as important as you,” Magdalene continued, puffing out her chest as she stood up straight. They really couldn’t be more different, but Nadia had made her feel like she was just as important as the Courtiers were, if not more. Regardless, she wouldn’t let anyone speak down to her like that, no matter their status or hers. 

“Wuh-” The Praetor froze, his eyes widening as he obviously looked her up and down. Magdalene slightly shrunk under the scrutinizing stare, crossing her arms as the Praetor clasped his hands and gasped.

“Oh! Magician!” He cringed slightly, his smile a thinly concealed grimace. “I didn’t recognize you in those rags. They’re much different than the lovely outfit the Countess had presented you in.”

Magdalene looked down at her black dress as the Praetor gestured up and down her body. They really weren’t that bad, but the phantom in the Count’s room had also mentioned her poor clothing choice her first night in the palace. Perhaps to nobility they looked shabby, but Magdalene felt an odd sort of sentimentality towards the dress regardless. She looked back up at him as her frown deepened.

“Well, I doubt it would be wise to run around in a skimpy dress considering how chilly it is today.”, came her defense, and just as the Praetor was about to respond they were interrupted by a loud clamor through the fog. The Praetor whipped around, the frantic look returning to his face.

“That sounded like Wiggler!” And then he took off, rushing into the thick of the fog. Without thinking, Magdalene followed, abandoning the collapsed carriage. Pale grey filled her vision, and she had lost the Praetor- he was surprisingly quick on his feet, and his impressive gait had long left the much shorter Magdalene to stumble around blindly. Cursing, she stopped, trying to collect herself. Taking a deep breath, Magdalene reached out with her magic, stretching out metaphysically in a desperate attempt to find something to grab hold of in the sea of grey. 

She could sense a darkness approach her magic- an ancient darkness that sent chills down her spine. A shaky breath escaped her as she tried to move past the darkness, and found herself being suffocated by it. With an instinctual whimper she snapped away in panic, crouching to the ground as her hands cradled her throbbing head. A searing headache was already forming as she tried to fight off the deep sense of wrongness that rotted inside her. 

As she sat there with her eyes clenched tight, she didn’t notice the Praetor approach her again. He cleared his throat, and Magdalene gasped, wobbling as she rushed to stand up. A thousand questions raced through her aching head as she stared up at the Praetor, and all but one escaped her. “D- did you find your worm?”

The Praetors face twisted in disgust as his eyes narrowed, “No, I did not find my precious baby girl.”

“O-oh.” She said, a far away feeling to her voice, “That’s not good, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” The Praetor narrowed his eyes, “It’s catastrophic! Were you just sitting out here cowering?”

“I wasn’t cowering.” Magdalene lied through gritted teeth, “What were you expecting me to be doing out here?”

“Looking for her!” 

“Look for her?! It’s the thickest fog I’ve ever seen in my life and you want me to just up and look for your worm- which isn’t even the reason why I’m here!” She hissed, her wits coming to her more clearly as her blood pressure rose. 

“You are a mage, are you not?! Prove you really are the magnificent savior our beloved countess truly believes you are!” He shrieked, his voice cracking. 

“I don’t have to prove jack to you! And I can’t do that-” Magdalene hesitated, “Because- Because magic doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh-” The Praetor sobbed, “She’s probably so scared, and confused! My poor child!”

Magdalene’s frown softened as the grown man several inches taller than her broke down, openly crying into his frail hands. She awkwardly shifted as guilt rose up in her chest. He really did seem distressed- although they could be crocodile tears. She huffed, cautiously approaching the Praetor. She reached out, patting him on the upper arm- although she was standing a full arms length away. The protocol for comforting a noble who was crying about his lost pet worm was lost to her. He startled, stiffening under her touch.

“Uhm- I can… I can try, uh, looking for her though.” She said, “Will you talk to me about the Count then, if I find her?”

“Oh-!” He dropped to his knees, grasping both of her noticeably smaller hands in his big claws, much to her shock. “Absolutely-! I’d do anything- anything- for you if you were to save my darling Wiggler!”

“Uh,” Magdalene gave a nervous chuckle, a blush coloring her cheeks, “That won’t be necessary, just- just the Count should be fine.”

She closed her eyes, trying to reach out with her magic again. When she did, it felt as if she had jumped into the deep end of a pool of darkness. She gasped, and the Praetor’s grip on her hands tightened. It was as if she were being surrounded with darkness, the only light was herself as she tried to find anything in the inky suffocation. The more she reached forward with her magic, the more the Praetor’s grip tightened- until she was quite literally forced out of his hold.

Her senses snapped back to her as she was flung across the manor yard by the powerful tail of the monstrously sized worm. Her arms swung out as she hit the ground, a sharp pain blossoming in her side. Slightly dazed as the ground started rumbling, Wiggler quickly approaching her again, much to her horror. Magdalene stumbled to her feet, trying to shake the daze from her head; She hardly had enough time to bring her hands up, a weak shield spell narrowly saving her from the razor teeth of Wiggler. Did worms usually have teeth?

Facing the quickly recovering worm, Magdalene planted her feet, gritting her teeth as she tried to think of someway to stop the worm without hurting it- too much. She racked her head with spells she could use, each time coming up blank. With the worm charging her, Magdalene cursed, instinct and adrenaline taking over. She lunged to the side, side stepping Wiggler, before spinning around and pouncing on it. 

“Oh- fuck!” The ground whistled past them as the worm moved at supernatural speeds, trying to buck her off. Dirt pelted her face as she was dragged through the mud, and she screamed. Screamed in panic, or frustration, she didn’t care which. Her screaming only distressed the worm out more, wiggling around even more frantically than before.

“Stop!” Magdalene shrieked as she desperately reached out with her magic. From the ground rose thick vines that coiled around her ankles, their thorns biting through her boots into her skin and making her hiss, her grasp on the worm tightening. She would be damned if she let go now. The gnarled vines pulled them to a stop, and she kept hold of the worm as the praetor raced over to them. 

Wiggler bucked out of her exhausted grip, squirming over to her owner. The pale man swooped down to embrace the large worm, a big grin on his face as he cooed over her. Magdalene sighed, chest heaving as she laid on the ground, the vines slowly releasing her as they sunk back into the ground. Ignoring the happily reunited pet and owner, she sat up, biting her tongue to suppress a whimper as the shock wore off and pain throbbed from her bitten ankles.

The praetor glanced over at her, his smile slowly falling into a more neutral expression as he looked from her face to her ankles. He stood up straight, approaching the injured mage. Magdalene looked up at the man, towering over her with a nervous expression, and she huffed. 

“You’re hurt.” He said plainly, gesturing down at her. 

“Yeah, no shit.” She grunted, prodding at her torn boots and bloody flesh. She had never been good at healing magic, but she could handle this. Probably. Either way it would be a good way to test herself, right? Right.

The praetor’s breath hitched, and he made it apparent he had been disgruntled by her brutish way of speech by his dramatic facial expressions. Magdalene rolled her eyes, looking back down at her ankles. 

“You hurt yourself to help me save my darling Wiggler…” Magdalene paused. Was he thanking her…? “I am delighted to have finally met a servant who’s aware of their place!” 

Magdalene’s gaze shot up to look at the praetor, her eyes wide as her face reddened. “You-”

She hissed, shaking as she struggled to stand up, the pain in her legs inflaming at the pressure. Just as she stood upright, she fell, arms flailing out instinctually. She gripped onto the praetor’s heavy dark robe in her panic, though he had tried to move away, and she was practically hanging off of him as she tried to support her weight. She used this to her advantage, tugging the tall man down to her height, pointing an accusing finger in his face as the other gripped onto him with white knuckles. 

“You do not- do not- get to belittle me after I just got dragged through the mud by your pet worm!” She spat, poking him in the chest. “I’m not your fuckin’ servant! I’m a mage, and certainly one more useful than you, mister ‘I can’t get my pet to behave so I have to get others to chase her!’”

She leaned in closer, tugging on the praetor’s beard, mouth twisting into a scowl. He gaped at her in shocked bewilderment, his eyes wide, “W-”

“Shut up! I wasn’t done talking!” Magdalene seethed, “I just used myself as a damn anchor, so you better hope I’m gonna be able to heal it or the medical bill is on your tab. Along with the wheel you broke. Oh- and! I need new boots, and we still need to talk about Lucio- y’know, the reason I came here? The reason I even know your sorry ass in the first place?!”

She was yelling now, and the man winced at her loud whining, finally shaking out of his dumbfounded gawking. “Silence! I loathe you and your common squawking- oh, how you pollute my poor ears!” He groaned, one of his slender hands cradling his head. “Please- please be silent!”

Magdalene choked on the audacity, “BE QUIET?!”

“...Ma’am?”

Both of them turned to look at the voice, the coachman emerging from the pale fog. There was a moment of silence as they all awkwardly stared at each other, before the coachman cleared his throat with a rough cough. “Oh, and uh- Praetor Vlastomil?”

Magdalene’s brain blanked as she repeated that name in her head, relieved to finally have been reminded of it without having to have asked the man himself what his name was. But soon that thought was swept aside as her raging resumed, only barely contained by her focus on the poor coachman who had been roped into this. The coachman looked to the side as he began blushing, his hands fidgeting with the broken piece of wood in his hand. “I, uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything…? I just heard a lot of screaming and wanted to make sure m’lady was well- and also to inform you of the state of the carriage. But, uhm, I can wait?”

Interrupting anything? Magdalene looked back at the praetor, her eyes gliding down to the precarious pose they were in. They were flush against one another, her chest heaving as she clutched onto him. She gasped as she realised what the coachman was insinuating, and she frantically pushed herself off of Vlastomil as her face reddened even more, “Gh- you weren’t interrupting anything!”

As she pushed herself off, the pressure on her legs inflamed her injured ankles again, and she gasped as she began to fall over once more. Vlastomil grabbed her waist, pulling her off the ground as he swept her into a bridal carry, much to Magdalene’s horror. “Wuh-”

“The witch has injured herself, and I’m oh so terribly sorry such a disastrous thing has happened at my noble house,” Magdalene scoffed as she tried to push herself away from the pale man, his ingenuine words hardly convincing her. “As, er, recompense for her injury, I will tend to her, while you fix the countess’ carriage.”

“Uh, yes sir- but I’ll need a new wheel. The other one was, ah- shattered beyond repair.” The coachman said, nervously shifting his weight. “And we haven’t a spare.”

“Yes, yes- you can ride the horse back to the city and get another wheel, can’t you?” The praetor said, looking down his nose at the man. The coachman nodded, giving Magdalene one last look before turning and disappearing back into the fog. Vlastomil scoffed before turning back to look at Magdalene, squirming in his grasp to no avail. 

“Lemme go, you fuckin’ weirdo!” She hissed, fist pounding on his chest. He frowned, rolling his eyes.

“You’re injured, and if I left you to pathetically crawl to the manor on your own, it would simply take far too long!” He explained as he began to head towards said manor, Wiggler following at his ankles. Magdalene huffed, relenting her squirming as she glared out into the fog, not able to bring herself to look at the praetor.

As the manor slowly came into view, however, her glare softened slightly as she looked up at the marble mansion in awe. It was intimidating, the countless white spires seemingly going on forever as they faded into the cloudy sky, and the building seeming to stretch as far as the eye could see on both sides as well. It was as if it were all consuming, and she almost believed it was as the large front doors were pushed aside to reveal an equally as expansive entryway. 

Several threadbare servants stood with weary expressions, snapping to attention as Vlastomil entered. As they saw Magdalene, they murmured to each other before pushing a particularly thin girl forward. She meekly approached them, shivering in her boots as she bowed her head. “Sir.”

“Ah! Excellent! Take this-” Vlastomil dropped Magdalene like a hot potato, and she only barely had a moment to catch herself, her weak ankles buckling under herself, and the poor servant girl that moved to steady her struggled to keep her upright. Magdalene swung on the praetor, her fist easily dodged by the surprisingly dexterous man. Or perhaps her crippled state made her easy to miss.

“What’s the big idea?! First you claim you want nothing to do with me, then you’re carrying me to your manor, just to drop me on the ground!” She shook her head, “You’ve got a sick sense of humor, asshole.”

“Such crude language! What a shame.” Vlastomil said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“You-” Vlastomil called out once more, startling the servant girl once more, “ Take the magician away and bathe her. She’s filthy, and she’ll track dirt through my pristine manor!”

“Pristine?!” Magdalene’s gaze flickered down to the freakishly huge worm at Vlastomil’s heels, before she went back to glowering at the man of the hour. “ I’m sure you love dirt with the company you keep.”

“Oh?” Vlastomil scoffed, leaning forward to scrutinize her. Magdalene tried leaning away, his cold breath making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Dear, we only have the finest of imported soil here, quality is the utmost of importance to me.”

“I don’t let my children play in any old gravel,” as he said this, his clawed hand drifted down to caress Wiggler’s head, as she leaned into his touch. Magdalene’s face scrunched up. “Like I said, you’ll mess up the manicured environment I’ve worked oh so hard on.”

Magdalene groaned, being carted away by the servants before she could stir up any more contempt with the Praetor. The servants handling her looked at one another with side glances and unspoken conversations. They quickly reached the baths in awkward silence, revealing a spacious ivory bath with crystal clear water. Magdalene was undressed, and the treatment seemed more cold than when she had been with Portia in the palace, hands never lingering a moment longer than they needed to. The servants seemed to want to get rid of her as soon as possible.

She glowered at them, crossing her hands over her bare chest, trying to seem intimidating despite her vulnerable state. They hesitated before averting their gazes, hurriedly scrambling out the door. With a sigh she gladly sank into the water, warmed from beneath- presumably fire magic. A pleasant surprise considering she was expecting freezing cold water that would leave a slimy coating on her.

She tried to collect her thoughts, the ache of her ankles a constant reminder of what a colossal mess this trip had turned into. Now she was stranded until the coachman came back with a proper wheel, which who knows how long that could take. The thought of having to stay here overnight made a chill run up her spine- who knew what haunted such a desolate manor. She’d hardly get a wink of sleep in such a horrible place. 

All she had to do was ask Vlastomil about the Count's death and then she could just… ignore him for the rest of the night. Simple. He seemed to have the same sentiment of having nothing to do with her. She looked down at her ankles, a light pink hue around them. Her blood. Huffing, she reached a hand down toward them, trying to calm herself. She lightly stroked the injured skin, hissing at the pain throbbing through her. She centered herself, closing her eyes as she tried to remember if Asra had ever taught her a simple healing spell. He had always been there for her if she was injured, tending to any wounds she managed to get. A bittersweet ache filled her chest, yearning for her only friend with her whole heart. When she opened her eyes, her ankles had been healed, though only partially. Good enough to limp around on, for now.

She clambered out of the tub, growing restless as the minutes ticked on and she couldn’t seem to repeat the spell. She looked around for what she was supposed to wear, her dirty clothes carted away by the servants. Scowling, she upturned the benches around the bathroom before she resigned to donning one of the silver bathrobes. It was clearly too big for her, draping off her like a ballroom gown, or night wear. But it was luxurious, and she adored the feeling of the silver silk against her clean skin. As if she were a noblewoman about to get ready for a night drinking wine and eating chocolate while she read scandalous books. She smiled softly to herself before the moment was over and she slipped out of the room in search of her host.

She wandered the pale hallways for what seemed an eternity, opening countless doors in growing disdain. Some led to nowhere, some led to infested rooms, some seemed unfathomably dark. The manor was a house of horrors, and she was lost in it.

She was disheveled, increasingly frantic to find a single other living soul in this house, when she finally opened the door to what seemed to be a den. She cautiously entered, her eyes scanning the room in curiosity. Tall marble bookshelves towered over her, leather sofas with mesmerizing white fur pelts covering them and the floor. Scented candles tantalized her, the whole room lulling her into a false sense of security with it’s surprising warmth. She should be alert, on her guard. She was injured, vulnerable, and she didn’t like it one bit. And yet here she was, gawking at everything like the naive peasant she tried not to be.

She limped over to the sofa furthest from the door, it was facing a fire that lit up the area with a soft glow. Leaning over the sofa’s edge, she looked down, surprised to come face to face with her host, peering up at her over the edges of a worn book. She jolted slightly, but stopped herself from jumping back completely. A moment passed between them in which neither of them said anything, a heavy air between them, before a barely audible sigh from Vlastomil broke the silence.

“You’re- you’re wearing my robe.” Vlastomil breathed, a whisper muffled behind his book, seemingly mostly to himself.

Magdalene frowned, her eyes squinting at the remark, “There wasn’t anything else to wear. Your goons took my clothes away, and I can’t just walk around naked.”

“No, I suppose you can’t.” He quickly responded, his gaze flitting down for a split second before pointedly looking to the side. He pushed the book closer to his face, purple spreading across his cheeks as a pressed breath escaped him.

“As soon as I find my clothes, or some other clothes I’ll change into them.” She declared, standing up straight with a huff. She moved around the couch, stopping in front of the fire to appreciate its warmth as she heard Vlastomil hurrying to sit up behind her. The fire’s golden hues idly danced across the dark stone that surrounded it, a calming contrast to the rest of the manor. She definitely wasn’t going to go back to wandering around. She turned around to face Vlastomil, surprised to find him still staring at her over the top of his book, eyes wide and ears that strange bruised purple color.

“What?” She said, the question coming out more demanding than called for.

“You look… well, the fire- it’s just-” Vlastomil stuttered, growing increasingly more and more flustered. He paused, collecting himself before he continued, “The fire looks quite striking behind you.”

“The… fire. The fire looks striking?” She said, her face scrunching up.

“Mhm, yes.” He said defensively, turning to bury his nose in his book.

Magdalene crossed her arms, moving to sit on the opposite end of the sofa. Vlastomil’s eyes widened, as he tried to discreetly scrunch into himself as far as he could. Try as he might, it didn’t stop the loud shuffle of his clothes against the sofa. Magdalene huffed, rolling her eyes as she glared at the fire. After a while she slowly started relaxing, tension leaving her as the stress of the day began sinking in and the warmth of the fire coaxed her into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorz if the end seems abrupt; its not technically the end but figured I needed to split it lmao
> 
> comments feed my drive to write! still, if you got down to here im still glad u read all that


End file.
